From The Ashes
by Clez
Summary: Chapter 8 now here Set two years after the film. What if everything Quinn feared actually came to pass, just when his life was starting to brighten? WIP
1. Part 1

The hooves pounded the earth hard, sending great clumps of it skyward, as the animal thundered forwards, seeking to escape the airborne threat that had been tracking them at a distance for about a mile.  
  
And about two minutes ago, the rider had decided that he could take no more of the games from the monster, and had decided to spur the animal on, allowing it to give in to the terror it felt.  
  
He felt the beating of its gigantic wings from above and behind, and he risked a tentative glance over his leather-clad shoulder.  
  
A roar verified what he already knew, and he felt the heat wash over him, blowing his tousled hair over his head, and around his face.  
  
He closed his eyes briefly, and kicked the horse hard in the flanks.  
  
It whinnied in terror, and unleashed a bust of speed that gave them the edge he had been hoping for.  
  
There it was, finally. His eyes had been searching frantically for it for the entire mile. The fog hid the landscape, and it was difficult to tell where one land started and another ended. He often forgot where he was, and in these times, losing one's bearings could be a fatal mistake.  
  
You should have checked you'd gotten rid of them all, he thought angrily, pushing the black horse on faster, if that was possible. Damn you, Van Zan.  
  
The structure seemed to draw closer, and again, a bellow sounded furiously from behind him, and he was almost certain he felt the snap of jaws clamping behind him.  
  
With a leap, the horse charged up the large mound set before the castle, now rebuilt, after two years.  
  
When he heard nothing from over the hill, not a sound, he gave a desperate, loud yell.  
  
He reached the top of the mound, and that was when he heard the great whooshing of wings, and that of their weapon set up before the hill he raced over now. He could see the short tower, and made out the rough shape of a person there.  
  
He saw the giant bolt fly towards him, attached firmly to a strong, firm rope, sailing from the massive harpoon.  
  
Eyes wide in realisation of his inaccurate timing, he ducked to the side, yanking the animal's head along with him.  
  
He felt the sting of his skin being torn away as the tip of the bolt scraped along his muscled arm.  
  
With a dry swallow, he stifled a cry of pain, and heard the great wail of agony as the bolt punctured the dragon, right in the chest.  
  
He pulled the horse violently, directing it to the side, and away from the crashing beast, even as the giant form crumpled to the ground, tearing it out from under it, leaving huge gouge marks in its chaotic landing path.  
  
With a snap, the dragon's head rolled in under its body.  
  
Trotting over, pulling the axe from its saddle strap, he stopped beside the body.  
  
He leapt down from the horse, now panting and snorting heavily in exhaustion. On steel-capped booted feet, he strode confidently over to the carcass, studying it carefully with dark, soulful eyes.  
  
Amongst the rough facial hair, he allowed himself a lopsided smile, half-hearted, lazy.  
  
With a great swing, he plunged the axe into the dragon's open maw, hearing the crunch as it split its head in two.  
  
* * *  
  
Leading the horse back into the castle compound, he was greeted by Jared, his young companion, who took the tired animal from his grip. The reins felt thin, worn and in need of repair.  
  
"That's the third this month, Jared," he grumbled unhappily, accepting a liquor bottle from another man, who went by the name of Andy. He took it back after the man had taken his fill, relishing the strong aftertaste that numbed his senses.  
  
Quinn looked into Jared's gentle eyes, eyes that had yet to see the true horror these beasts could bring in their wake.  
  
"I know, but maybe they're just dying out slower than we thought," was the youth's response.  
  
Quinn shook his head in disbelief at Jared's naivety. How could one person be so blinded to the truth, even if they wished for a better existence? It had hit Quinn hard, seeing that shadow loom over their crops again, after they had worked so hard to re-grow them. Half of it was ash again, nourishment for that disgusting breed.  
  
"They're not dying out," Quinn growled, his grip on the axe handle so tight that his knuckles whitened. "We must have missed something."  
  
"What do you mean?" Jared inquired innocently, passing the black horse to another youth as he passed. The other boy, Malcolm, gladly accepted the reins, and led the animal back to its stable.  
  
Quinn rolled his eyes discreetly. How many times did he have to go over this with people?  
  
"One of the females must have laid an egg before we killed that bastard male," he said, not bothering to key down the tone of his voice, even in the presence of the younger children as they passed a play area, where the kids proceeded to play hopscotch, and other simple games. "Maybe the egg contained a male."  
  
He looked to Jared, ensuring the boy -well, he was eighteen- was listening.  
  
"Van Zan said himself, most of the dragons, nine out of ten born are female. Maybe when the males are young, the mothers kill them off, or something like that. That's why we haven't seen another one since. But who's fertilizing the eggs, Jared, who?"  
  
The youth tilted his head in submission, and sighed heavily. "I know you're right, Quinn. I just don't want you to be." 


	2. Part 2

Storming up into the short, slightly raised artillery tower, Quinn threw open the door, looking into the startled eyes of Charlie, their weapons expert on the premises.  
  
"What? Wasn't there enough dragon for you?" he thundered, showing Charlie the bleeding hole in his arm, where the metal-tipped projectile had torn away his flesh. It hurt like hell, but his thoughts were elsewhere at the moment.  
  
Charlie fumbled, and then, calmly said, "I wasn't concentrating, Quinn. We didn't expect you back so-"  
  
"Wasn't concentrating?" Quinn yelled into Charlie's face, literally inches from the other man. "Maybe you shouldn't bloody well be operating the harpoon if you don't concentrate! Keep one eye on the sky, you idiot!"  
  
Charlie kept his opinions to himself, accepting Quinn as the leader. He merely listened as he was scolded.  
  
"You could have at least aimed a little higher, avoided taking a chunk outta my arm," Quinn grumbled loudly, calming down enough to lower his volume.  
  
Charlie didn't quite know how to react, and so, in his strong Welsh accent, mumbled, "Did you want Alex?"  
  
Quinn turned his head back to the artillery operator, and sighed. "Yeah." He looked around vaguely in each direction. "Where is she?"  
  
Charlie gestured to the tower, and replied, "She's resting, the last I knew. I don't think she feels too well today."  
  
Quinn nodded as if mesmerised. With that, he walked away, holding one hand to the wound on his upper arm.  
  
* * *  
  
Alex stirred as a hand touched her arm gently, looking over sleepily at Quinn, sitting at her bedside.  
  
He looked as though he had had a rough day. His dark brown hair was a tousled mess on top of his head, resting around his jaw line in loose locks. His dark eyes studied her with affection, and his lips were half twisted into a smile. His recently shaved facial hair was quickly re- growing, and Alex smiled.  
  
"Hi," he said quietly, soothingly.  
  
She made a happy noise, quietly, so as not to wake the other people sleeping in the large tower room. There were at least two other couples trying to rest together, and three single individuals wrapped tightly in blankets, hidden from the bitter cool blowing in through the many cracks and holes in the brick walls.  
  
"How are you feeling? Charlie said you didn't feel well," Quinn muttered in a gentle voice.  
  
"Forget about me," she announced, her consideration for the other occupants forgotten, noticing the bleeding mess on Quinn's upper right arm, "we need to get that cleaned up right now."  
  
Quinn shook his head once, insistently, "No, it's not as bad as it looks."  
  
Alex sat up in the bed, carefully, sporting a rather impressive bump, about eight months along. That was her reason for resting, and for not feeling well. It was kicking again, and the morning sickness was not always mornings. Whoever had come up with that term needed straightening out seriously.  
  
Alex touched her fingertips to the nasty wound, and asked, cringing, even as Quinn winced, "What happened?"  
  
Through a hiss of obvious pain as Alex inspected his arm, Quinn replied, "Charlie was on the harpoon, and 'he wasn't concentrating'. Apparently thirty feet of dragon wasn't enough for him."  
  
Alex allowed herself a shy smile. Why was she still so quiet around him? They had been together for about two years now, and they were even having a child. She should really come out of her shell more often around him, other than at night.  
  
She closed her eyes with a hidden smile at her thoughts, and stood, moving to fetch some towels and bandages.  
  
Quinn beat her to it, helping her back to the bed, kneeling before her on the floor.  
  
She sat on the low bed, and began cleaning the wound carefully, so as not to hurt Quinn. Alex would have to give Charlie a piece of her mind. What made him think he could go around shooting at her husband anyway? She knew it hadn't been intentional. Charlie was better than that, but the Welshman sometimes needed a better attention span. He should have heard that dragon coming. if they had indeed killed it.  
  
"Did you actually get the dragon then?" she asked, watching as Quinn removed his coat, sweater, and T-shirt so that she could bandage his arm. She still felt her limbs tingle whenever she saw him like this. Why? It had been so long.  
  
He nodded, and let her bandage his arm, wrapping the cloth around and around, before she finally tied it off gently, yet securely. "Lucky the dragon came over the hill low. Charlie got it square in the chest. Came crashing right down; snapped its own neck."  
  
She nodded, and added, "Did you check?"  
  
"That it was dead?" he wondered, starting to don his clothing again, feeling the bite of the cold in the England air. "Yes. I checked."  
  
"The axe?" she guessed. Her husband had been using that weapon ever since. since Van Zan had died. Quinn felt he owed it to the American to keep his spirit alive by carrying his weapon of choice.  
  
He nodded again, and leaned over, kissing her on the forehead affectionately, before running a hand over her stomach. He smiled slightly. It was rare now that anyone, including Alex, would see expression from Quinn, besides anger, or irritation.  
  
The reappearance of the dragons had hit him hard. He viewed it as a failure on his account. Since he had been the one to kill the male, he felt he was responsible for the others. the leftovers.  
  
His theory of a fertilized egg containing a male embryo was frightening to say the least. To think that all they had done could be in vain. but they had to face the facts. Why else would they still be around after so long, even when they managed to kill nine out of ten that neared the castle. They had watchtowers all around for five miles, and no dragon could pass without being spotted, and recorded. They estimated the size of each of them, and gave them nicknames.  
  
Some of the colonists found this strange, considering they just killed them anyway, and they should not get to know them by title. They only ever named the ones they saw, naturally, and those just got killed. But occasionally, one slipped away from them, and they could recognise them by these titles and estimates. Sometimes, the females had different tints to their scales, and they could recognise them easier this way, by taking note of this colour variation.  
  
"Was it a local?" she asked, knowing Quinn would understand her meaning.  
  
Again, he nodded. "It was that large female from last Tuesday. What did we call her?" He thought for a moment, and then said, "We called her 'Venom'. She had a black shade to her scales. She was the biggest I'd seen in a while."  
  
Alex acknowledged with a nod, and stroked his dark hair from his face, smiling at him. "Don't worry. We'll get rid of them eventually." 


	3. Part 3

Quinn sat in the vast dining hall by himself, the silence comforting for the time being. He found it refreshing to sit alone, left with his thoughts, the chaotic musings, the troublesome ponderings.  
  
Ever since Van Zan had died, he had been a little disoriented. It was as though the American had grounded Quinn somehow. acted as a weight to keep him in the boundaries of sanity. That on top of witnessing the tragic demise of his old friend Creedy had crushed him.  
  
He was losing his fragile grip on that sanity, and it worried him greatly that he could just. snap. He worried about lashing out at the ones he loved. Quinn despised the thought of hurting Alex or Jared in any way. And with his child on the way, he needed to get a grip on himself.  
  
From the door, he heard a scraping, and his brow furrowed.  
  
He stood from the wooden chair, and strode over to the closed door, opening it, hearing it creak eerily.  
  
From on the other side of the door, he heard a pine, and as he opened the door fully, he saw the most unexpected of sights.  
  
There sat a scruffy animal, a dog, with tattered grubby ears, liquid brown eyes staring up at him, black fur matted and thin, bushy tail brushing back and forth across the dusty floor.  
  
It let out a single bark, and scampered away playfully, tail wagging frantically, tongue lolling out of its mouth.  
  
Curiously, Quinn followed, keeping up with the animal by jogging, tracing his way blindly through the dark corridors in the castle.  
  
Soon, he found himself in the courtyard of the large building, and there, sat atop a large dappled horse, -muscular and proud, with a flowing silky mane and tale, and its neck arched powerfully- was a young man. He looked to be about eighteen, if not younger. His black hair was blowing about in loose locks on his head, whipping about his eyes, ears and neck. He looked around with intrigue, brown eyes as if searching for someone, even as children milled around the horse he was mounted on. The animal did not even shift on its large striped hooves, strips of brown marring the grey bone.  
  
The young man was dressed darkly, in grey sweatshirt, black trousers, and long black duster, leather in appearance, worn and weathered. Thick, heavy boots covered his feet, rested comfortably in steel stirrups hanging from a western style saddle.  
  
The horse chomped casually on a polished metal cheek snaffle bit, connected firmly to a strap bridle, absent of both the brow and nosebands.  
  
This person was American. Quinn could tell that much by simply looking the man up and down. well, young man.  
  
He walked over, following the trotting dog, until he found himself standing stock still in front of the large male horse, seemingly a stallion.  
  
It snorted heavily, and regarded Quinn with intelligent brown eyes.  
  
The dog sat down next to the side of the horse, and panted up at his master.  
  
Well, Quinn guessed that the scruffy animal belonged to this stranger.  
  
"Who are you?" Quinn asked, shooing the children off to a safe distance. The youngsters stood by the far wall, giggling and whispering amongst themselves.  
  
As the stranger replied, Quinn's suspicion of him being American was confirmed, "I'm called Deacon."  
  
"What are you doing here?" Quinn inquired, looking between the stranger and his animals.  
  
"I'm here for shelter. I've been travelling for weeks. Do you know how long it takes to get here from America?"  
  
"No, and I don't much care," Quinn grumbled, wary. He eyes Deacon suspiciously.  
  
Deacon laughed from atop his mount, shifting slightly in the saddle, resting his hands on the rounded pommel, setting the split reins over and around it, and tying them off loosely. "A long time. I take it you're the one in charge around here?"  
  
Quinn nodded gruffly. The dog pined loudly, and Quinn turned his eyes to the animal.  
  
Deacon smiled, patting his horse on the neck. "Don't mind him. He's jumpy. He can smell one of those beasts coming for miles."  
  
Quinn's eyes darted back up immediately, staring into the brown eyes of the stranger. "What did you say?"  
  
"The dog," Deacon repeated, gesturing casually, "he can smell a dragon coming for miles."  
  
Deacon laughed again, something Quinn found quite irritating. "You have to admit, the things do stink."  
  
Quinn cocked his head, and couldn't resist a half-smile. This stranger was interesting, new and different. He hadn't met anyone like him for years. He hadn't thought people like him still did exist. Creedy had been the last light-hearted joker Quinn had known.  
  
"So, you know who I am." Deacon began, taking a deep breath in, and letting it out slowly, "who are you?"  
  
"Name's Quinn," he replied, stroking the horse down the face slowly. The horse closed its eyes, as though it found the petting soothing. It let out a soft rumbling groan, similar to the purr of a cat, but louder.  
  
Quinn smiled. He hadn't thought horses still existed either, besides the black animal he kept for transport.  
  
Deacon nodded once.  
  
"How old are you exactly? You can't be more than eighteen," Quinn stated, and saw Jared approach from the other side of the courtyard.  
  
Deacon sighed. "Actually, I'm twenty-one." He laughed. "If America wasn't in ruins, I'd finally be a legal alcoholic."  
  
Quinn found this amusing, and laughed. It felt good to laugh after so much hardship.  
  
Deacon dismounted his horse, patting it on the shoulder, and taking a loose grip with a gloved hand on the side of the bridle. His gloves were missing the fingers. On Deacon's left hand he wore a ring, silver, on his middle finger, and one on his right thumb, also silver.  
  
Typical Yank, he thought, glancing down at the golden band on his left ring finger. It had been a gift from Alex, and had apparently belonged to Van Zan. Now it served as a wedding band. She wore a more feminine version on her own finger, a ring that had belonged to Quinn's late mother.  
  
He sucked in a deep breath as he recalled his mother's face. and let it out, blinking back the tears, denying himself the freedom to mourn his mother. That would have to wait.  
  
It was then that he noticed the bulging saddlebags attached the back of the horse's seat. He allowed his brow to furrow, and gestured with a nod to them.  
  
Deacon noticed, and smiled. He moved over to them, unfastened one, and tossed it to Quinn, who caught it, soon noticing the weight.  
  
Confused, he opened it, and felt his eyes widen considerably.  
  
Bullets. dozens of them. Tens of dozens in fact.  
  
He looked back up through narrowed eyes at Deacon, who presented a large gun from his horse's other side. It resembled a shotgun, a rather large shotgun, and a considerably powerful one at that. It looked to be pump-action, something that Quinn hadn't seen in a while.  
  
"You'll find all kinds of bullets in there," Deacon commented, replacing the gun into the saddle holster. "No doubt you're running low." Then he added, "If you haven't already run out, that is."  
  
Quinn decided this Deacon was an asset.  
  
At least for the time being. 


	4. Part 4

Deacon followed close behind the man who had introduced himself as Quinn, and felt the presence of his nameless dog. It had never occurred to him to give the dog a title. He had never really thought of it as important.  
  
Quinn stepped into a large room, filled with a glowing light provided by torches and candles set around the walls. Tables and chairs littered the floor, and over in the corner was a large cooking area. Cupboards were built onto the walls, no doubt filled with the essentials with which to nourish the colony.  
  
Deacon sensed that his presence was less than welcome in some areas. In one way, he had provided them with news from the outside. but in another light, he had invaded their lives, arrived uninvited and unannounced. Too sudden for some.  
  
Quinn sat at one of the smaller tables, with less room than the others, pouring himself a glass of some sort of liquid refreshment. He showed the bottle to Deacon, who nodded. Quinn poured a second glass, before knocking his back, grimacing for a moment afterwards.  
  
Deacon slowly sat opposite the mysterious leader of this colony, and picked up the glass, smelling it discreetly.  
  
It reeked, but, with a shrug, Deacon downed the substance with one gulp. The burning hit the back of his throat, and the less than subtle aftertaste set in fast. He coughed once, and laughed.  
  
Quinn grinned. "Strong, huh?"  
  
Deacon nodded vigorously, and asked, "Where did you get it?"  
  
Quinn laughed. "We made it. Don't even ask how. I'm not too sure of that myself. But," he added with a sigh, "it works. Numbs the senses pretty damn fast too." He laughed again.  
  
Deacon smiled.  
  
"So," Quinn began, pouring another glass for Deacon and himself, "why are you really here? You seem to have something on your mind, and it's not a matter of shelter."  
  
Deacon considered Quinn for a moment, and pondered over whether or not he could trust the man. After a few silent moments, he replied, "I came to warn you."  
  
This seemed to grab the Englishman's attention immediately, and the half-smile faded into a sombre expression. "Warn me about what?"  
  
After downing the second glass with a grimace, Deacon bluntly said, "About a dragon."  
  
Quinn laughed suddenly, and knocked back his second glass, quickly pouring himself yet another. How could he stand the substance in such quantities? "A dragon? Well, take a look around, Deacon," Quinn said, emphasising his name, holding the small glass for a while, staring into the liquid, "there are plenty of dragons around already. We don't need you to announce every one's presence." He smiled sarcastically, and drank the drink down. This time, he coughed himself.  
  
Deacon sighed quietly, rolling his eyes at the English sarcasm. "Not just any dragon, Quinn." He emphasised the name too, returning the smug attitude.  
  
Quinn looked him in the eyes, and it seemed the man had been right about the power of the liquor. He seemed pretty much half inebriated already. His dark eyes looked distant, and he blinked more often than before, as if fighting the temptation to sleep.  
  
Deacon realised he should just tell Quinn his news before the other man passed out. "A male."  
  
This simple statement clearly sobered the Englishman immediately, and sat up straight, and mumbled quietly, under his breath, "Dammit, I knew it." He turned his gaze back on Deacon, and asked, "Where? And when?"  
  
With a heavy sigh, Deacon let his shoulders slump, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "About." he hesitated, thinking, trying to recall, "three hundred miles from here, to the north."  
  
"Shit," Quinn muttered, biting his bottom lip, and waited for the American to continue.  
  
Deacon didn't disappoint. "It was about. oh, say, two weeks ago. Bastard nearly got me five times. He's fast. big."  
  
A little too suddenly, Quinn said, "We've dealt with a male before."  
  
"We?" Deacon repeated, and continued, "All I've seen are children so far. You take them to hunt, do you?"  
  
Quinn glared, and bluntly replied, "Me and my wife."  
  
A wife? Deacon hadn't been expecting that. But where else had he gotten the ring on his finger, and what reason would he have had for wearing it?  
  
"You're married?"  
  
"Yes," Quinn replied, taking a large gulp of the alcohol, "for nearly two years now."  
  
"Congratulations," Deacon mumbled, and added, "I didn't even know people still bothered."  
  
Quinn didn't reply.  
  
"So, where is your wife?" Deacon inquired, feeling the need to brighten their conversation from the previous topic about dragons and the like.  
  
Quinn waited a while before replying, "Resting."  
  
Deacon cocked his head.  
  
Quinn continued, "She's pregnant."  
  
Deacon raised a single eyebrow, and again said, "Congratulations. When is it due?"  
  
Again, there was a hesitation, as though Quinn didn't feel it was any of Deacon's business to know such information. He finally said, "In a month, maybe sooner."  
  
Deacon nodded slowly, and reached down, scratching the dog on the top of the head, letting the conversation die right down to silence. 


	5. Part 5

Alex sipped at a soothing cup of tea, and winced as the baby kicked, harder than previous occassions, making her seriously regret her decision to even conceive the child. He. she, whatever it was, was just as rebellious as its father.  
  
She smiled, and allowed herself the quietest of laughs. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she was a married woman. It felt strange. She had only ever really encountered two married couples since the disaster of the dragons, and she had never really thought it would happen to her.  
  
It was a miracle they had even managed to do it officially. One of the colonists was able to marry people legally.  
  
Legal. that didn't really matter anymore. There weren't even governments and law officials to uphold the law in any way. It had faded away along with everything else they had once taken advantage of so long ago.  
  
She heard booted feet scaling the steps, and she recognised the pace. It was Quinn, and something was troubling him by the sound of how heavy he was treading.  
  
Alex placed down her cup of tea -something she had once considered typically British in every way-, and braced herself for her husband.  
  
He walked into the room, gave her the briefest of smiles, one that didn't even seem to be meaningful. He strode right over to the cabinet, and retrieved the large gun he kept there.  
  
Alex immediately stood, with a little difficulty, and asked loudly, "What are you doing?"  
  
Quinn turned his gaze upon his wife, and replied stoically, "I was right. There's another male."  
  
"How." her voice fluctuated, and she swallowed, "how do you know that?"  
  
"Deacon, the American who showed up at the gates. He's seen it."  
  
"How does he know it was a male? It could have just been a big female," Alex countered, following Quinn around the small room.  
  
He donned his long coat, and turned full on to face her. His eyes were filled with disappointment. Probably with himself. he blamed himself.  
  
"The males are much bigger. you know that, Alex," he said quietly, taking a gentle hold of her face.  
  
Alex blinked back the sudden tears. She was frightened she was going to lose Quinn, the man she loved. She shouldn't let it get to her, she realised. He knew how to take care of himself.  
  
He pulled her into a kiss; more passionate than the affectionate delicate ones he gave her frequently to remind her of his love for her. This one meant more. He was telling her not to worry, that he would be back. Quinn was reminding her that he would be back.  
  
He ran a gentle hand over her stomach, and the child within, and smiled, resting his forehead on hers for a moment.  
  
When he spoke again, his voice sounded forced, slightly choked, "I have to go."  
  
He turned, and walked from the room.  
  
She watched him go, his long coat trailing behind him, and as she lost sight of him, she let the tears roll.  
  
* * *  
  
Quinn took a deep, slow breath, numbing the sadness of leaving the woman he loved behind. He reached the bottom of the twisting staircase, and saw Deacon waiting for him.  
  
He also saw Jared, his fingers curled tightly around the reins of two horses, one black, the other dappled, both quite muscular and strong. Both built for speed and riding.  
  
Quinn walked directly past Deacon, who stood swigging at the bottle he had sampled earlier. Apparently, the Yank was getting quite attached to the substance. Maybe it calmed his nerves. Who knew?  
  
Not me, Quinn thought, accepting the reins to the black horse off of Jared, running a hand down the white blaze on the animal's beautiful face. It snorted, and bowed its head slightly.  
  
He mounted it with ease, holstering the powerful rifle, and reaching for the crossbow that Malcolm held for him. Quinn shouldered it immediately, and waited for Deacon, one hand on the front of the saddle, the other holding the reins at his thigh.  
  
Deacon screwed the lid on the bottle, tossing it carefully into one of his bulging saddlebags, and swung into the western-style saddle. With a sigh, he accepted the split reins from Jared, and squeezed gently with his knees, bringing the horse to attention. With a snort, the dappled stallion's head rose from its snoozing position, and it sniffed the air.  
  
Deacon gave a short whistle with his fingers, and his scruffy mongrel came running to the horse's side. As usual, the dog was panting, and it glanced up with liquid eyes at its master.  
  
"C'mon," Quinn said bluntly, turning the horse with one sharp pull on the reins. It turned on its hindquarters, a move it had taken Quinn months to master with the animal. It helped a great deal when he had to make a sharp exit from a dragon.  
  
Deacon turned his horse with another squeeze of the knees, and a gentle raising of the reins in the direction he turned.  
  
The two horses had apparently made friends fast, and travelled side by side without a sound, hooves treading the sloshing mud with ease.  
  
Quinn took one last sorrowful glance back at the castle as they trotted through the gates, which were shut firmly behind them.  
  
From the small window in the tower, he could make out the shadowed figure of Alex. 


	6. Part 6

As they travelled slowly, their horses traversing the landscape with ease, they were mostly silent, minds chaotic, senses alert and prepped for action.  
  
"So," Quinn began quietly, keeping one eye on the sky, "how did you manage to escape the dragon then? If he's a big as you said he is, and anywhere as fast as the male I encountered, I should think you'd be dead by now." He turned his gaze on the other man, who thought silently for a moment.  
  
Deacon didn't look to Quinn as he replied, "I just ran. Hid until the beast had passed me, and then bolted. He has a bit of trouble seeing out of one eye, his right. Didn't see me running until it was too late."  
  
Quinn's brow furrowed, and he asked, "What do you mean?"  
  
The younger man looked to the elder, and grinned at the side of his mouth. "Saw him get into a fight with a female. a big one at that. She slapped him around for a bit before he finished her off though. Scratched his eye almost completely out. That was the first time I saw him," he paused, diverting his steed around an impressively large rock, and then continuing, "it wasn't for ages that I saw him again. The eye had just about healed, but not enough to completely restore the bastard's sight perfectly."  
  
Quinn cocked his head with intrigued curiousity. This could work in their favour, which Deacon obviously already knew, as he chuckled quietly.  
  
"I know what you're thinking, Quinn," he stated proudly, as though he had been the one to wound the beast initially, "and you're right. This can work to our advantage. Catch the dumbass on his blind side, and he won't know what hit him."  
  
Quinn laughed broadly, heartily. Finally, some good news. Not that a male in any way was good news at all.  
  
"But first," Deacon said, holding a hand aloft, indicating a ridge on their left, about thirty metres away, wearing that same damn idiot smile of his, "we have to meet up with some friends of mine."  
  
Quinn's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Friends? Deacon hadn't mentioned anything about friends of any kind.  
  
"What? You think I came here alone? Man, I'm not that stupid. or that brave."  
  
Quinn nodded once, and spurred on his horse into a canter after Deacon when he took off suddenly.  
  
They scaled the shallow ridge swiftly, and as they reached the top, Quinn's eyes went a little wide.  
  
A small army of at least fifteen men and women were waiting for them, several hounds pacing around them. They all sat atop impressively muscular horses, variating in colours, from whites to roans of both kinds.  
  
All eyes were trained on them, and as they recognised their companion, cheers rose up.  
  
It was then, with a gasp of shock, that Quinn spotted the carcass of a freshly killed dragon. It was a reasonably large beast, female obviously, and one he recognised.  
  
There were unmistakable tears in her wings, which now rustled in the breeze like a loose canopy, and scars marring her scaly form.  
  
She had been nicknamed 'Malice'. She had been the one to destroy their crops, and he felt a slight sense of satisfaction slide over him as he gazed upon the body, dead eyes rolled back in its skull, toothed maw agape.  
  
He kicked his horse on, bouncing slightly in the saddle as it trotted cautiously down the slope.  
  
Deacon was already at the bottom, greeting his friends with a smile and shakes of the hand. The young man turned his head, and silenced his companions with a rising of his hand. Immediately, complete stillness -save for the shuffling of hooves, and the quiet padding of dog's paws- fell over the group.  
  
"I'd like you all to meet Quinn."  
  
The silence remained, and Quinn noticed one or two mouths drop open. What was going on?  
  
Suddenly, one of the company spoke up, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "You mean. the Quinn?"  
  
Deacon nodded, and looked up with brown eyes at Quinn, giving him a knowing smile.  
  
Quinn completed his short journey on horseback down the slope, and moved up behind Deacon, saying in a hushed voice, "What's going on here? They know me?"  
  
"Of course they do," Deacon blurted, and raised a single eyebrow in surprise that Quinn would ask such a ridiculous question.  
  
All eyes were focused on Quinn now, and it unsettled him slightly. The only time he had had such an audience was when he and Creedy had performed Star Wars for the children.  
  
He took a breath in, let it out, and stared at Deacon, waiting for an explanation.  
  
"News travels fast, even over to the good old US of A."  
  
Quinn's brow furrowed.  
  
Deacon chose to clarify, "We heard about how you killed the male before. Why do you think I sought you out, Quinn? It wasn't an accident coming to that castle."  
  
"You knew all about me? And you didn't tell me?"  
  
Deacon held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. there are still things about you that none of us know. I honestly didn't know you were married, or expecting a child." He paused, glancing to his friends, who were listening intently. "I had to lie to make sure I could trust you."  
  
Quinn closed his eyes to try and understand what the hell was going on here, and failed miserably. This man had lied to him. deceived him. Could he trust him at all?  
  
"So what if he killed a bloody dragon?" shouted a voice, and a rather angry sounding one at that, and there came the great stamping of gigantic hooves, as a massive chestnut with a flaxen mane and tale stomped forward through the crowd. It snorted twice, pawing at the ground with a feathered hoof.  
  
Quinn gazed at the equally bulky man riding the animal, and raised an eyebrow discreetly at the man's appearance. He wore a leather jacket, to his waist, covering a white shirt. Hanging down the shirt, glinting in the pale sun was a crucifix. The man wore leather trousers, and boots, which were no doubt reinforced with steel in the toes.  
  
Quinn pitied the horse on the receiving end of those steel toecaps.  
  
The man's head was shaved close to his scalp, stubble of dark hair visible. He had penetrating blue eyes, which bore right into Quinn. His face, like Deacon's, was bare of facial hair.  
  
Trust the Americans and Australians to keep worrying about shaving every day, Quinn thought.  
  
"I've killed dragons," the man boasted, sitting straight and tall on his mount. The accent was unmistakably of Australian origin, and was a contrast to Quinn's cockney, and Deacon's broad American.  
  
"Makes no difference if that dragon was well equipped or not, if you know what I mean," he continued, and Quinn realised how much this man must love the sound of his own voice. He clearly had no intention of ceasing in his rant.  
  
"See that back there? Just as deadly as a male," he snapped.  
  
"Really?" Quinn interjected, and he heard a quiet surprised gasp from one of the company. Clearly, no one interrupted one of this man's rants. "Ever come across a male?"  
  
The man remained silent.  
  
Quinn glanced sideways to Deacon, who subtlely shook his head from side to side once, confirming the Englishman's suspicions.  
  
"They're cruel, and brutal, even more so than the females," Quinn continued, resting comfortably in his saddle, hands rested loosely on the seat, feet dangling in the metal stirrups. His horse chomped contently on the bit in its mouth.  
  
"They're at least three times the size of the females too, and they don't have any problems with hunting their own kind. Seen one snatch another right out of the sky. She wasn't fast enough for him. and he's just as fast on the ground. have you in the blink of an eye." He leaned forward in his saddle, closer to the man, who saw himself as intimidating. "You wouldn't know what hit you."  
  
There was a long silence, and the man pulled an angry irritated expression, and turned his horse vigorously, kicking it into a trot away from Quinn.  
  
With a sigh, Quinn listened as Deacon said; "You should watch out for Kyle. he can be an asshole sometimes."  
  
"Yeah," Quinn agreed, "I noticed." 


	7. Part 7

Night had settled in suddenly that day, and now they all sat around a close collection of fires, heating food and drinks, drinking various alcoholic liquids.  
  
Quinn looked around slowly with his dark eyes, taking in all of the people, and what they said, whom they spoke with, and just how they said those words. Everybody seemed pretty friendly with everyone else. except for Kyle. He sat alone, away from the fire, wrapped up warm in the cold English breeze.  
  
Every now and then, those striking blue eyes travelled in the Englishman's direction, and glared coldly, almost as biting as the weather. Quinn swigged casually at the bottle of alcohol he and Deacon had brought with them, and turned his gaze upon that. He realised it was running on empty quite fast, and that drinking liquor at a time like this, when a dragon was likely to pop up and surprise them all anytime soon, probably wasn't a good idea in itself.  
  
He screwed the cap on tightly, and set the bottle down by his side, zipping his leather coat as far up as it would go. He tucked his gloved hands into his pockets, and stared long and hard into the flames.  
  
It reminded him of the male he had taken down the year before. It was difficult not to think about it. The day Van Zan had died. sacrificed himself, or so it had seemed.  
  
Quinn recalled watching helplessly as the American had launched himself through the air, from atop the tower, into the cruel jaws of the male. The teeth had clamped shut immediately on Van Zan.  
  
And the axe. the axe that had dropped from the sky, landing with a dull thud, and a slight ring against the rubble-ridden London ground. Quinn had picked up the axe, and taken it home with him, using it for him own. He felt that by keeping the weapon, come tool, in use, he could somehow keep Van Zan's memory alive.  
  
The man may have been unorthodox, but he had been decent, in his own Yankee way. Quinn had actually grown to like the man, and had felt a great sense of mourning wash over him as he had watched the American's life come to a definite, inescapable end.  
  
"Penny for them?" came a familiar American voice, as a figure seated himself beside Quinn.  
  
Quinn looked over, coming eye-to-eye with Deacon. It seemed that the young man had taken it upon himself to become Quinn's shadow of sorts. It was actually growing to be quite annoying in a way. Quinn could barely get a moment's piece.  
  
He looked back to the burning embers, without a word or nod, or any kind of acknowledgement.  
  
"Was it something I said?" Deacon mumbled, looking, like Quinn, into the fire.  
  
Quinn rolled his eyes, and stood, looking down on the young American.  
  
"You lied to me, Deacon, and you want me to trust you?" he said, eyes narrowed, the anger rising up again.  
  
Deacon sighed noticeably. "I didn't cause any harm. I didn't think you would trust me if I told you about the rest of us."  
  
"I don't trust you now!" Quinn looked around, realising the rest of the camp had turned their attention to the two. He didn't much care.  
  
"Well why not? I haven't done anything wrong," Deacon countered, standing to face Quinn off bravely. He had more guts than Quinn had first thought it seemed.  
  
"How many times do I have to remind you that you lied?" Quinn growled. "I hate liars. That's the problem with people like you."  
  
Deacon's eyes narrowed too now, as he asked quietly, "Whadda you mean 'people like me'?"  
  
Quinn did not reply. He hadn't thought his reply through. He had meant Americans, but considering he was in a camp full of Americans and Australians, that probably was a mistake.  
  
"You mean Americans?" Deacon asked loudly, standing straight and tall to his full height, which was actually greater than Quinn had first thought.  
  
With a quick thought, Quinn retorted, "No, young idiots who think they know what's going on here. You don't even know what I've been through!"  
  
"Apparently I do!" Deacon yelled back, coming closer to Quinn, staring right into his eyes. "I knew enough to find you, and everybody knows you killed that male. Why the hell do you think we came for you in the first place?"  
  
Quinn laughed, removing his hands from his pockets, and balling one into a fist in annoyance. "You think you know about me? You don't know the first thing about what I'm really like, what I've really been through!"  
  
"Then why don't you give him a lesson?" came the irritating voice of Kyle from across the camp, loud and strong.  
  
Quinn didn't look away from Deacon as he said, "You wanna know what I've been through?"  
  
No one spoke, giving him the exact response he had thought he would get.  
  
Fine, they wanna know about my past, I'll give them what they want. They won't care anyway. they don't care about anything but their pride, he thought with spite, saying, "I was twelve when I saw my mother die."  
  
Deacon's expression softened a considerable amount then.  
  
"Surprised? Well, here's the best part; I was the first human to see that bloody beast in god knows how many years. I saw it in its cave, and it burst outta there, blood on its mind. It didn't want anything but carnage. My mother tried to get me to safety, and in trying to do so, she died. She never even got to see the daylight one last time!"  
  
Deacon bowed his head for a moment, clearly regretting his decision to doubt the Englishman.  
  
"I have had to watch people close to me die. all my life," Quinn continued, despite the fact that he had an audience. "I had a close friend named Creedy, best friend I'd ever had, never doubted me, or made me regret anything I'd ever done."  
  
He started to pace around Deacon, shutting the youth out from the rest of his group, who had formed a clear circle around the two.  
  
"Creedy believed in me so much, that when that bastard dragon came to that castle, he sacrificed his own life so that I could live," Quinn thundered, making sure all of the crowd heard him, and he made solid eye contact with a few of them. They avoided his gaze quickly.  
  
"I watched the flames engulf him. my best friend." He leaned in close to Deacon, standing to his side. "He was like a brother to me."  
  
Deacon looked around at his companions, as if searching for assistance of some kind in the rather one-sided argument.  
  
"Do you know what that's like?" Quinn asked, coming round to face Deacon, jaw set angrily. He always got this way when he was forced to remember such times.  
  
"Do you?!" he yelled when Deacon didn't reply.  
  
"No," Deacon mumbled.  
  
"Now, I've watched my best friend, my mother, and Van Zan die, all because of that same bloody dragon! Do you think I want to go through that again? Huh?!" He was shaking now, rage coursing through his veins as he glared directly at Deacon.  
  
"Fuck you! What right have you got to punish him for that anyway? Seems to me that it was your fault all that happened," Kyle exclaimed, striding right up to Quinn from the crowd.  
  
Without even turning, Quinn slammed his fist right into Kyle's face, hearing a crunch as he did so. He saw the large man crumple to the ground out of the edge of his vision, hearing him hit the mud, and groan in pain.  
  
"Sorry, did I break your nose?" he grumbled, picking up the alcohol bottle, unscrewing the cap, and downing the remains. He stared at the remainder of the crowd. Some of them had already paced away, realising they never shouldn't have listened in the first place.  
  
"What are you looking at?" Quinn growled.  
  
Immediately, the crowd dispersed, going back to their fires and food, or drink, or whatever they had been doing in the first place.  
  
Feeling the rage subside, and seeing Deacon looking from him to Kyle, Quinn strode away, off to his horse, to think in silence. 


	8. Part 8

"That bastard's crazy," Kyle hissed through clenched teeth as Deacon helped him off the floor.  
  
"No, he's just angry," Deacon insisted, crouched down to Kyle's sitting height. He passed him some alcohol.  
  
Kyle accepted the bottle. "More like psychotic."  
  
Deacon rolled his eyes. "I never should have lied to him like I did. He probably feels betrayed."  
  
"Deacon, he broke my nose!"  
  
"Don't complain, Kyle," said a woman as she moved to them.  
  
"Annika, I'm never gonna trust that man, especially not now," Kyle grumbled, standing, and walking away with his alcohol.  
  
Deacon watched the Australian go, and gazed in the direction Quinn had gone off in. "What am I gonna do, Annika?"  
  
The red-haired woman took a moment to snuggle into her black scarf, and said, "That's up to you, Deac'."  
  
"Great, another chance to get it wrong," Deacon quipped, and strode off after Quinn.  
  
* * *  
  
The horse nudged him lightly, and snorted, pawing the ground beneath its hooves. It wished to lie down, but still fully tacked, Quinn would not allow it. It was tethered to a tree nearby, one of the only ones in the area. The dragons had succeeded in tearing down or burning pretty much all the trees in the vicinity.  
  
Quinn turned and petted the horse on the muzzle, sighing restlessly. He wished to sleep, but found that he was not tired. at all.  
  
It was because he was angry, and he knew why. Deacon had betrayed his trust, and had inquired on matters that did not concern him. It had brought up issues that Quinn did not like to discuss.  
  
Especially his mother. Not even Alex heard him talk about his mother very much, if at all.  
  
He felt moderately guilty for breaking that dumb Australian's nose, but the big idiot had had it coming. Especially after what he had added to the already heated conversation.  
  
And that was when he heard the slight crunching of stones underfoot, and he cast a lazy glance over his shoulder, knowing immediately who was emerging from the shadows.  
  
It was Deacon. although Quinn had no idea what the American hoped to achieve in coming to him again.  
  
The young man stood, silently, at the edge of shadow, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched. He was cold, clearly, but wasn't showing it much. Good old Yank pride.  
  
Quinn sighed heavily, and scratched the horse's ears as he said, "How's the Australian?"  
  
For a while, Deacon didn't respond. He simply stood, watching the Englishman, as if studying his movements, trying to figure out what he was going to do. "He's whiny as usual. No change."  
  
"I'd say sorry for breaking his nose," Quinn started, and then turned, "but we both know I wouldn't mean it."  
  
At that moment, Quinn's eyes caught the shadow of another figure approaching, even as Deacon half-smiled in response to Quinn's comment.  
  
The person stepped into the light, and Quinn saw that it was a woman, red hair blowing in the slight breeze, thick scarf tucked tightly around her neck and shoulders, keeping the warmth in, and the cold out. Gentle eyes regarded the back of Deacon's head.  
  
"Deac'," she started, her own voice American too, "you're needed back at the camp."  
  
Deacon looked back half-heartedly, and with one final gaze at Quinn, turned on his heels, and strode off.  
  
Quinn was left alone with the woman, who stood gazing at him curiously. The light played on her features gracefully; illuminating them every now and then, and then casting them back into shadow.  
  
"He doesn't mean any harm," she said quietly, voice gentle and full of sincerity. She looked to the ground, her boot nudging at a rock that resided there. "He just doesn't understand."  
  
Quinn shoved his hands roughly into the pockets of his coat, and sighed. "I know."  
  
The woman came closer, eyes turning to meet his in the dim light. "I've known him my whole life."  
  
"Then you should be careful," Quinn said seriously, his tone carrying a certain edge. "You don't want to lose him... I can see that. It will hurt more than you know... seeing him get hurt."  
  
"He knows how to take care of himself," she retorted, and that was when Quinn saw the lines around her eyes. She was older than Deacon; he knew that now. but just how old was she? If he had to guess, he would say she was bordering on thirty... closer to Quinn's age than Deacon's. Maybe she had cared for him, as he had for Jared.  
  
"Does he?" he asked in a low voice. "People are never quite what they seem."  
  
The eyes stared quizzically, gazing into him, studying his every movement, expression and meaning.  
  
"I thought I could care for a community," Quinn breathed lazily, looking skyward, "but I showed my worth when the bull came to the castle. Didn't realise he was there until he'd destroyed half our home."  
  
"I'm sure it wasn't your fault," she came a step closer, the compassion clear in her words.  
  
"No," Quinn shrugged, "I was just too busy digging out an egg from a dead female to notice. She tried to tell me," he completed, turning back to the horse, and patting the mare on the nose. She bowed her beautiful head, and snorted once.  
  
The woman came to his side, and laid a hand on his arm. "You're too hard on yourself. I noticed that as soon as I saw you. You have so much responsibility... and it's not fair, I know. I've had that sort of burden my whole life too. I have two younger brothers here with me, and a sister. I had to take care of them after we lost our home."  
  
Quinn's eyes turned to hers, and he cocked his head.  
  
"My mother was a coward," she continued, "she ran for the hills at the first sign of danger. Left us all alone."  
  
"What about your father?" he asked, knowing he shouldn't pry, but finding her story too intriguing to leave a mystery. Besides, she was being forthcoming with her past, and if she wished to share the information freely, then Quinn might as well be curious.  
  
"Oh, he died when I was only young." She laughed quietly, her hand falling to her side loosely. "I suppose he was lucky in a way. He never had to deal with any of this." She gestured around her vaguely, and then locked gazes with Quinn again. "But you remind me of him a lot. He was stronger than he knew. and a natural leader."  
  
Quinn lowered his head, and stared blankly at the floor. Why was she speaking this way? She didn't know him... couldn't know him. How did she know that he was anything like what she said? For all she knew, he would desert them at a pivotal moment, run for the hills himself.  
  
"I don't think I can bear to go through with this again," he mumbled mournfully, looking to the stars above. "The last time I let myself grow close to anyone, I ended up losing them."  
  
"What about this wife Deacon speaks of? She's alive," the woman corrected.  
  
Quinn nodded, the memory of Alex's beautiful face floating into his mind. A tear formed, but he blinked it back quickly. "Yes. But only because I've hidden her away for so long. I couldn't go on if I lost her."  
  
"You feel responsible for her."  
  
"Of course I do, she's my wife," he snapped, closing his eyes afterwards for letting himself grow angry. He took a deep breath, and then added, "But it goes deeper than that. After we lost Van Zan, she was all that remained of her company. I wanted to keep her alive to preserve their memory. They were good men... all of them. They sacrificed their lives for what they believed in. It took their deaths to make me realise that it was worth fighting for... that the human race needed to take back what was rightfully ours."  
  
"And still is," she added, her hair now tucked behind her ear. "We can't give up. not now. We have the strength and the intelligence to destroy them, now more than ever. After what you achieved in London, we know they have a weakness. We used to think they were invincible... some sort of demon."  
  
Quinn sighed.  
  
"Now that you've taken down a male, with little more than a single explosive, we know it's possible to take back the planet."  
  
He released a small laugh. "You make it sound like an invasion."  
  
"That's all it is, Quinn... an invasion. Now we need to drive them out... once and for all," she insisted, her words strong and clear, her gaze defiant.  
  
"I should be with Alex," he muttered, turning away, and closing his eyes. Again, her face came into his subconscious, as if calling to him.  
  
"Yes, you should. And we want to make sure that you can be with her for the rest of your life. That's why we need you here. You're the only one with real, first-hand experience in combat with one of these things." She paused for a moment, before continuing, "Sure, we've brought them down before... but never a bull... we wouldn't know how."  
  
"I need to be there for my child," he said, louder, opening his eyes. He turned back to her, and saw the desperation in her eyes. They claimed they needed him... but so did Alex. "I can't let my child grow up without a father... it was bad enough when my own father left. You know what it's like. Something's missing... I can't do that to them, or Alex. I want this finished."  
  
"Good," she said, "then help us. Help us finish what you and the others started."  
  
With a deep breath, Quinn thought back quickly over all that had just been said between the two, before firmly and confidently nodding.  
  
He was going to destroy the dragons once and for all. 


End file.
